


Adler’s

by Elianara



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eyeliner, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, It's For a Case, M/M, Prostitute Sherlock, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elianara/pseuds/Elianara
Summary: John Watson meets Sherlock Holmes while the detective is working in Ms Adler’s establishment. John ends up getting a different sort of excitement than he bargained for. It’s ok though, it’s for a case.





	1. Chapter 1

‘No- but it’s properly classy.’ Murray said to snorts of derision from the rest of the group.

‘What are we talking about now?’ John said putting down the tray of drinks. He’d been gone for ten minutes to the absolutely mobbed bar and the conversation seemed to have moved on from West Ham’s prospects next season.

‘Murray has been to a brothel.’ Jones said with an eyebrow raise.

‘It was my neighbours stag. You know how he’s a stockbroker, mates with money to burn. I didn’t partake of anything more than a gin and tonic in the bar.’Murray held his hands up.

‘So what’s this about it being classy then?’ John said, passing out glasses.

‘Whole place was like a fancy hotel. Honestly if you’d walked in off the street you’d never have known. All I’m saying, if I was looking to pay that’d be the way to go. Not that I would ever have to pay of course.’ Murray held up his glass in a mock toast.

‘Not my taste mate.’ Barnes broke in. ‘Even if I wasn’t spoken for.’ Barnes tapped his wedding ring. Barnes had been with his (male) partner for fifteen years before his recent marriage.

‘Au contraire.’ Murray shot back, ‘plenty of pretty chaps if that’s what you like.’

‘That’s your dry spell sorted then Watson.’ Jones said with a grin. Jones had always joked that John’s bisexuality was ‘greed’.

‘Chance would be a fine thing, can hardly afford this round at the moment.’ John replied.

The conversation moved on, to money and work and how ruinously expensive living in London was these days and the brothel was forgotten. Or almost at least.

The following morning, chasing his hangover with strong tea and heavily buttered toast John did a bit of idle web searching (safe search off) and found the place within minutes. Atler’s, Antler’s, _Adler’s_. That was it. It did look like a boutique hotel.

 _Please_ _contact_ _us_ _by_ _email_ _for_ _further_ _information_.

So he did. Idle curiosity, he had nothing else to do mooching around as he was, waiting for sporadic locum work to come his way. A couple of hours later, as he took a much needed nap, a beautifully formatted pdf dropped into his inbox with a pleasant email from Miss Adler herself (or so it claimed) saying how delighted she would be to see him soon.

He wondered if she had read Dr Watson and assumed he was well off, senior partner in some prosperous practice. Either way it was a fantasy. Even if he did have the balls to do it, go to a brothel and get himself a proper seeing to he couldn’t afford it. So he got on with things.

Then came the vomiting bug. Suddenly he had more shifts offered than he could handle. Three weeks later, after the worst had passed he was checking his bank balance. He realised that for the first time since he left the army he actually had a bit spare.

He could start to think about moving on, getting out of the limbo he’d been in since he got shot. _You_ _could_ _start_ _to_ _think_ _about_ _buying_ _yourself_ _a_ _few_ _hours_ _with_ _one_ _of_ _those_ _pretty_ _chaps_ _who_ _knows_ _what_ _to_ _do_ _with_ _his_ _hands_ , _his_ _mouth_ …His brain traitorously supplied.

He had decided, as he embroidered the posh brothel fantasy, that it was a man he wanted. He had a feeling, probably wrong, that a woman, even paid for, would feel the need to sympathise with his injury, his predicament. The two dates he’d gone on since his discharge had taken this form… _poor_ _you_.Well intentioned but not what he wanted. He wanted to get off with something other than his own hand. He wanted the frisson of paying for it he wanted excitement.

He found himself pouring a scotch, opening up the beautiful brochure again, running his eye down the price list. The language used to describe the services offered elegant but unambiguous. He found himself writing an email.

 

##########

 

John walked in off the street with a forced confident stride. A faint aroma of beeswax polish hung in the air as he entered a lobby with an old fashioned coat stand. An elderly doorman showed him into a sort of reception room.

‘Thank you Wylie.’ An elegant woman got up from behind an equally elegant antique writing desk. ‘Dr Watson. How nice to meet you, Irene Adler.’ She held out a manicured hand.

‘John, please.’ He shook the offered hand firmly.’Beautiful place.’ He said for something to say. Ms Adler was dressed in what you could call sexy forties glamour. A well used riding crop lay across the desk where you would normally see an inkstand.

‘Thank you. Please take a seat.’ John sat and listened as Ms Adler went over the house rules. These only amounted to what you would reasonably expect to keep everyone safe, protect everyones privacy, and this reassured John somewhat. The prostitutes (her staff as she called them) sat in purple chairs in the bar, clients in green so everyone knew who was who.  
‘I do so hate this business of them being paraded like offerings you see in other houses.’ She said, as if she expected John to be an old hand at brothels and to know what she was talking about.

‘So the erm money is that…’ John started awkwardly, it almost seemed vulgar to bring it up.

‘Ah yes, my assistant Kate in the bar deals with that. The staff will summon her when she is needed.’ With that a bell was rung and a waitress showed him to a (green) stool at the bar.

It was, just as Murray had said, like a posh hotel. Quiet conversations went on all around and there were a surprising number of female clients. The only thing that would tell you this wasn’t a sales conference would be the eccentric (though obviously expensive) clothes some of the staff wore. John sipped a glass of white wine as he watched a woman two stools away in a red corseted ball gown. She was talking to a male customer obviously easily thirty years her junior. She stroked his cheek, whispered in his ear and then summoned another female (presumably the aforementioned Kate) for the deal to be done.

The two of them disappeared behind a set of double doors and through the space they had vacated John surveyed the room. A broad sweep flagged up two possibilities. Two men, both twenty five to thirty and built like swimwear models. Both unfortunately talking to other clients. John was just wondering what the etiquette was here, with waiting your turn, when a voice behind him drew his attention.

‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’

John’s head snapped round. He hadn’t mentioned his military title when he made the booking so he immediately wondered where that had came from. Then there was the fact that the voice was just the public school type accent he’d want whispering filth into his ear. He put it down to all those posh commanding officers he’d met in basic training. 

The speaker was lounging on a purple chair. He had something of a piratical, maybe new romantic, thing going on. Long legs were encased in midnight blue velvet and a slim but strong looking torso was covered with a white frilled shirt ,a good few buttons undone. Then there was the face, strikingly angular with full lips and pale aquamarine eyes which had been lined in a midnight blue to match the trousers.

‘Can I help you with something?’ The man said, gesturing to the green chair opposite.

John sat, assessing. This wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind this man was older and had a prickly quality that John hadn’t known he was looking for but now he’d found it…

‘I don’t really know what I’m looking for…I mean obviously…’

‘Ejaculation.’ The man said bluntly. ‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself before we got down to business so to speak. William.’ He held out a hand which John took, admiring its masculine elegance.

‘John and yes, obviously I want to... I’m open to suggestions. If you..I mean is that part of the service or do you need specific instructions?’ John was aware he sounded like the rookie he was but didn’t care.

‘Hmm.’William steepled his fingers. ‘Well, your gaze has lingered on both my hands and mouth. I suspect you’d enjoy some combination of oral and manual. Your nerves probably rule out anal.’ An eyebrow raise. ‘Shall I summon Kate?’ William raised his hand.

‘Hang on we’ve…’ John was about to say we’ve only just met till he remembered. This was transactional, he wasn’t on a date, wasn’t going to wake up next to this man tomorrow . ‘Yeah, why not?’ John casually sipped his wine as if he did this all the time.

Kate was called over and there was a whispered conversation between her and William. She tapped at a tablet before turning it towards John and indicating a large but not, given how gorgeous this man was, unreasonable sum. He counted out the cash with surprisingly steady hands. Kate, he noticed, did not count it again.

‘I’ve emailed you your receipt Dr Watson, enjoy your evening.’ She smiled brightly before turning and clicking away on her heels.

‘Shall we?’ William gracefully rose and John noticed a faint nod to a grey haired man in the corner, a client too John supposed. John realised he was likely a regular, waiting until William was done with him. John felt unaccountably jealous and pushed it down. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To get off, no strings?

He followed William through the double doors and up an elaborate staircase noticing as they climbed that the back of William was every bit as appealing as the front. The velvet encasing a generous and well shaped arse.

The posh hotel theme continued in the room William led him to. A tasteful, modern monochrome with a beautiful bed. The door clicked shut and William turned to lean on it, regarding John from a distance for a few moments before stalking towards him. Placing a hand squarely in the centre of his chest.

‘There really is no need for nerves. ‘William said, voice and eyes soft as the hand moved down John’s belly. If this had been a date John would have been hard already. Would probably have been getting there just from following that lovely arse up the stairs.

He wanted to kiss William observe what might be called the romantic proprieties, that innocent slippery slide of lips and tongues. He was surprised how much he felt the need to but then that mouth, soft and pillowy.

The thought, the question, do you kiss? Was swept away by the act itself.

‘The answer is yes…’ William whispered, pressing their mouths together fervently. He tasted of good scotch and peppermint.

‘Would you like me to undress you captain?’ William was curling his frame around John snakelike as lips brushed against his temple.

‘God yes.’ John allowed himself to be led to the luxurious looking bed and pushed down on the edge. William knelt to carefully remove John’s shoes and socks. This should not have been sexy but the way William pressed John’s knees slightly apart and gracefully lowered himself  between them was electric, promising and John felt himself swell towards full hardness.

As William eased himself back up between John’s legs shirt buttons were nimbly opened. It was like some sort of inverted striptease, John losing clothes while the man almost in his lap stayed dressed.

‘Will you be taking your clothes off?’ John said hopefully, cheekily.

‘Patience captain.’ William breathed close to his ear, going for his belt. ‘I want to make sure you’re good and… _’oh_.’ Williams hand had landed on his prominent erection and then pulled away again as if stung.

‘Problem?’ John said a little tersely.

‘You’re not him! That means he’s still…excuse me for a moment.’ William went for his phone and quickly dialled. ‘Keep an eye out it’s not him!’ He shouted into the phone before before tossing it onto the bed and petulantly throwing himself down beside it. Rubbing his hands across his face, smudging his eyeliner.

‘I’ve missed something haven’t I?’ John said, feeling utterly silly half dressed with a hard on as he was.

‘You fitted the profile you see, military, medical experience…’

‘The profile?’

‘There have been attacks on workers in better quality brothels for the past few months, not that I can get anyone to believe that they are linked other than Lestrade. There’s a pattern that suggests Adler’s will be targeted tonight. Of course we’re certain he’s impotent, that’s why when I touched your penis I realised.’

‘You thought I was going to attack you? That’s just lovely.’ John spat, though he knew that buying sex didn’t exactly give him the moral high ground.

‘Oh don’t be offended. We believe he comes across as very normal, he…’ Sherlock broke off and looked him up and down, words fading on his lips. ‘Would you like me to… give you a few minutes?’

‘A few minutes for what?’ John asked. If nothing else it had been a surreal evening.

‘For well, there are supplies in that drawer…’

John suddenly took his meaning. ‘No! Christ no!’

‘Oh, well…I shall have a word with Miss Adler. I’m sure we can find you someone else I overheard very good things about David in the bar earlier…’

‘It’s on the way down now anyway.’ John felt deflated, in every sense of the word. ‘I assume you’re police?’

‘Oh no I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world. My associate downstairs, he is police though.’

‘’The police don’t consult amateurs.’ John said, reaching down to put his socks on.

‘No they don’t, I’ve been calling you captain all night but you never told Miss Adler about your service, I saw.’ He disappeared into the bathroom and continued to talk through the open door. ‘It’s the haircut, the way you stand, then there’s the injury. Shoulder, shot most probably. Your medical discharge explains why you’re short of cash. The suit, the shirt, all bought when you were a good deal better off, say two years ago? Hardly worn though. You had little need to wear smart civvies in the army and with your injury and subsequent PTSD…’ William emerged from the bathroom, eyeliner repaired. ‘Sorry that was a little personal-probably.’

‘No it... was amazing. The eyeliner, suits you by the way. Sorry, that was probably a bit personal too.’ John laughed nervously.

‘No it’s fine.’ William said, obviously taking a little pleasure in the compliment. His phone rang interrupting the moment. ‘Yes, I’ll just be back down.’ He said sharply, heading for the door. ‘Once again I really am sorry about your evening. Now I must go, Lestrade, the policeman, has spotted another potential downstairs. We’re just the two of us, his superiors wouldn’t authorise a proper operation so…’

‘Sounds dangerous.’ John said, thinking _sounds_ _fun_.  
‘Care to make it up to me?’

Sherlock paused for a moment, looking confused. ‘John while I’m flattered by your interest I should tell you I’m married to my work and I should stress my turning you down has nothing to do with you visiting this establishment. Indeed I find the approach to physical needs refreshing…I…’

‘No-I wasn’t- I just wondered if you could use a little help from an old soldier?’ John smiled hopefully. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a complete washout after all.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John felt like he was being coldly assessed. ‘Of course. You’re an _army_ doctor, any good?’

‘Very good.’ John said, sitting a little straighter. Almost forgetting the indignity of his flagging erection.

‘The name’s Sherlock Holmes meet me downstairs and John?’

‘Yes?’

‘Best give yourself five minutes.’ Sherlock’s gaze lingered for a second in John’s lap.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so as not to leave them hanging. This is I suspect on the fluffy side for something tagged prostitute Sherlock but that’s the way it goes sometimes.

_Four_ _and_ _a_ _half_ _months_ _later_.

John sighed with gratitude as the hot shower spray fell onto his tight shoulders.

It had been a long few days. locum shifts juggled with helping Sherlock. Only a house breaking but the house of a cabinet minister containing who knew what secrets. Sherlock found the hole in their security and pocketed a decent fee. A proportion of which he had a agreed to spend on appropriate lab glassware and ‘food only’ crockery and cutlery for the flat. The eccentric use of the kitchen being one of the few things they had issues with as flat mates over the last two months.

Most people would have found it awkward, the idea of sharing with with someone who they’d kissed, touched intimately. Not Sherlock.

‘ _It_ _was_ _for_ _a_ _case_ _John_.’ He has said, shrugging when John delicately brought it up after Sherlock had mentioned his spare room. ‘ _I_ _don’t_ _mind_ _if_ _you_ _don’t_.’

Truthfully it was a lot more complicated than minding or not. Yes his flat mate was attractive but getting involved with his work, his world, had gotten John the excitement he’d been looking for when he’d gone to buy sex in the first place. So he had somehow became friend, flat mate, blogger. It was all fine, mostly fine.

He pottered about after the luxuriantly long shower ,picking out comfy jeans and shirt, ruffling his hair into some semblance of order. He padded through to the kitchen barefoot with a view to making tea or possibly looking to see if they had any beer or wine. For some reason they had a bottle of his favourite white in the fridge that he didn’t remember buying.

‘John?’ Sherlock’s voice was tense behind the open fridge door.

‘Did you buy this wine? It’s my…’ He shut the fridge door and the question died on his lips. His flatmate was standing at the kitchen doorway.

Dressed as William.

‘Yes. I bought it for us.’ Sherlock said stepping closer.

‘Sherlock you’re wearing -Is it for work? John asked, confused, maybe hoping a little.

‘No, it’s not.’ Sherlock glanced at him through lined eyes. ‘It’s for you.’

‘Oh. Glass of wine?’ John said, something to say while he got his head wrapped round Sherlock propositioning him. _Please_ _God_ Sherlock propositioning him.

‘Love one.’ Sherlock took a step closer. ‘I wanted you to see me and think of what happened. What might have happened. I wanted to make my intentions clear because this sort of thing…I thought the clothes, the wine, Would put across what I meant.’ Sherlock paused and inhaled sharply. ‘Say something John.’

John took a breath himself , feeling the thing was too fragile to just blurt out the first thing that came into his head-so he said the first thing that came into his head. ‘You didn’t need to dress up you know, I fancied you just as much in the pyjamas and t shirt from this morning.’

Sherlock’s face softened in relief, possibly confusion too. ‘The collar on that shirt is torn.’

‘It is.’ John said moving to close the last bit of meaningful distance between them. ‘That’s why I like it, I can see this here.’ He dragged the back of his fingers across Sherlock’s chest, pushing the frilly shirt aside and running a thumb over his collar bone. Then he moved his hand round to the back of Sherlock’s neck up into his hair. ‘I’m not sure where it goes from here.’ John said softly, looking Sherlock in the eye. Frightened to do the wrong thing.

‘You mean you don’t want to assume that because I’m dressed as a prostitute that I…’Sherlock tailed off leaning into John’s touch on his neck. ‘That’s nice.’

John saw the conflict in Sherlock’s expression. Sherlock craved contact with him, that much was clear, but there was also a hesitancy.

When it had first been clear why Sherlock was dressed up John had entertained notions of something hard, fast, dirty. The two of them collapsing into a heap on the floor after with satisfied grins. This wasn’t that. ‘Is that what you want? More...just touching? We can do that.’

‘What I said about you that night I may have been, what’s the term? Projecting.’

‘Oh.’ John continued with a kneading motion at Sherlock’s neck, teasing out muscles still drawn tight from days on a case with too little sleep. ‘So when you said that about inexperience, you meant yours?’

‘Absurd isn’t it? Standing here, done up like a dogs dinner in no underwear then proclaiming my innocence of such matters.’

‘Innocence?’ John said, while all he could think was _no_ _underwear_.

‘Don’t try to be delicate John, you know what I mean. I obviously don’t date, I have never mentioned an ex of any kind…’ Sherlock paused and looked him in the eye, a plea for understanding.

‘Well, for what it’s worth, that night- You came across incredibly sexy and confident with it. Out of interest, how far were you actually prepared to take it?’

They’d barely spoken about that night since, due to John’s embarrassment. Now John was bringing it up because he knew that Sherlock loved to talk about how he’d solved a case. That it was likely the best way for the detective to overcome his own bashfulness.

John moved away from him to grab glasses and wine. He set them on the coffee table in the living room, sat on the couch and patted the space beside for Sherlock to come and join him. It appeared rather than a quiet night with his book he was on a date. He wasn’t going to tell Sherlock that just yet though.

‘Well, the expectation was not far at all.’ Sherlock sat, rather primly. ‘If you remember, our hypothesis was the attacker was impotent. I believed he would show himself for what he was not long after I got him in the room.’

‘Bit dodgy.’ John observed, pouring the wine.

‘Well there was Lestrade downstairs, I have a certain amount of martial arts, fencing training.’Sherlock said, matter of fact. ‘So of course when I felt that you were…aroused. I didn’t know where to look.’ Sherlock looked at him now. ‘I thought perhaps if I sort of channeled William now, William who got you to hand over the money, go upstairs with him, got you…’

John took his hand, realising they’d rather gone in a circle. ‘What about if I tell you what I was thinking that night?’ He took a mouthful of Chablis and Sherlock did the same. Sherlock nodded and John took his hand and began to draw circles with his thumb on the palm. It was the sort of thing that he’d wanted to do for ages and it was hard to be casual about it. ‘See I’d gone there to get off, no complications. I’d never done it before. I thought it would be…’

‘Risky.’ Sherlock stated with a smile. He was letting his hand rest in John’s lap now, relaxing under the attention like a lazy cat.

‘Yeah, I think so. Then when I started to talk to you, got you upstairs and you started to touch me I sort of wished I was on a date.’ Sherlock shifted and frowned.

‘John you really don’t need to over romanticise.’

‘That’s not what I mean, not exactly anyway. Remember how I wanted to kiss you?’

Sherlock licked his lips. ‘Yes, you were leaning in, it was obvious what you wanted to do.’

‘I suppose what I’m getting at is I need more. More than just…’

‘Ejaculation.’ Sherlock finished his sentence with a smile, echoing their first conversation. ‘You need companionship, genuine affection-excitement?’ Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

‘All of that, yeah. The thing is I’m getting a lot of that already from you. Any physical stuff would just the icing on the cake.’

Sherlock surged forward with considerably less grace than William had done, hands going to John’s chest. John’s back hit the yielding sofa cushions as he was pinned in place.  
A glance passed between them and Sherlock shuffled closer. It should have been awkward, Sherlock was much taller than him and all leg in an adorably coltish way but it was perfect.

Plush lips hit John’s slightly off centre, pulling back before pressing in again. Harder, wetter, clumsily opening for him. The kiss grew smoother and deeper as Sherlock bloomed in confidence.

With effort John kept his hands pretty much to himself. Though this was a date, it was decidedly a first date. He wanted Sherlock, with his admitted inexperience, to lead this, to show him he was sure. He didn’t have to wait long.

His hand which had been resting  on a wiry bicep was very deliberately lifted and placed on Sherlock’s velvet clad thigh.

‘You do like the clothes though?’ Sherlock said hopefully, pulling back a little.

‘I do. Very Captain Jack Sparrow. Your idea?’ John ran keen fingers over the velvet.

‘Irene, Ms Adler, chose the ensemble, though I had the shirt and trousers.’

‘You just happened to have them?’ John smiled, they were very different from his usual sober if sexy suits.

‘Yes, the trousers were bought for an undercover thing I did a couple of years ago, ballroom dancers moonlighting as heroin dealers. The shirt was…a sort of joke Christmas present from my brother. I was obsessed with pirates as a child.’

‘The eyeliner?’ John gently stroked the corner of his eye with a pinkie.

‘That was Irene’s idea, I wanted to get the shade exactly right for today and when I asked her about it she…worked out why I wanted it.’ Sherlock looked down between them sheepishly. ‘I expect a text from her soon to ask how it went. I think it’s amused her. She said, I should phone her if I got stuck.’

‘I can’t imagine where she thinks you’ll get stuck.’ John said, rather proud of the double entendre.Sherlock blushed violently and looked at the floor. John cleared his throat, cursed his crassness.

 _You’re_ _not_ _in_ _a_ _barracks_ _now_ _Watson_.

’So, what did you have in mind?’ John squeezed the velvet a little. Thinking, again, of what Sherlock had said about his lack of underwear.

‘I want to…’ Sherlock broke off embarrassed. ‘When I touched you- the way you filled my hand...I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards. After I realised you weren’t a violent criminal of course. After I came to know you.’ Sherlock clarified. ‘I am not explaining myself very well.’

‘You are explaining yourself perfectly.’ John reached up to kiss his cheekbone. The sharp edge under smooth skin just what he’d imagined. ‘When I got home that night I did as you suggested.’

‘You did?’ Sherlock took his meaning and smiled broadly.

‘Yeah, after chasing you around while you were being brilliant and gorgeous. I went back to my shitty bedsit, lay on my single bed and pulled myself off like a teenager.’

‘What specific thing did you think about?’

‘You in that outfit, me peeling you out of it. Have you any idea what those trousers do to your arse? Then the fact you wrestled a serial killer to the ground that night, that got me hot and bothered too.’

Sherlock moved his hand to rest on John’s crotch for half s second. ‘Show me.’ He said, voice dry and eyes wide.

‘You want me to?...Here?’ John said.

‘The doors locked, Mrs Hudson is out. Your flat mate may come back of course…oh no wait, that’s me.’ Sherlock’s lips curled mischievously.

John decided if he was doing this he was doing it right. He stood and stripped quickly and completely. Appreciating the way Sherlock looked at him with a hesitant hunger. He pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa to sit on before settling back down, legs splayed. He slid his fingers over his rapidly swelling length. Experimentally, just to see how Sherlock reacted, how he felt himself about putting on a show.’So do you want me to just do what I do?’

‘Yes.’ Sherlock said, staring. John wondered if he’d ever actually seen a hard cock that wasn’t his own before. He looked like he wanted to devour it and John, god help him, wouldn’t have stood in his way.Sherlock, observant as ever, held up a small bottle of lube.

‘Presumptuous.’ John said, holding his hand out.

‘It was part of the disguise John. Props are vital to maintain an illusion.’

‘I believe you thousands wouldn’t.’ John said as Sherlock squirted some into his outstretched hand. ‘Will you be joining me?’ The velvet hid nothing and if that wasn’t telling enough Sherlock’s cheeks were stained pink, his pupils wide. John patted the blanket beside him. So much for a first date- but then didn’t some of the best first dates he could remember finish like this? Well, a bit like this anyway-it was Sherlock Holmes after all.

Sherlock stood and pulled his shirt over his head, unconsciously adjusting his hair before moving his hands to his waistband. As the trousers were unfastened and began to slide down over otherwise naked hips the impression John got was of roundness, abundance. Rather at odds with the long lean angles on display in his suits. Sherlock’s cock was thick and the curve of his arse was decidedly generous.

John began, almost unconsciously, to stroke himself. Slow but in earnest as Sherlock took his trousers off and sat down on the blanket, licking his lips as he began to do likewise.

‘Very nice.’ John said looking into Sherlock’s lap. ‘Don’t want to chafe though.’ John reached across him for the lube with his clean hand and squeezed some into Sherlock’s waiting palm.

He adored Sherlock’s hands anyway. Long, elegant. He had filthy thoughts just watching Sherlock work on his bizarre experiments so watching them- shiny and slick -rubbing over the mans own plump cock was something he could not pull his eyes away from. A long thigh shifted against his and, nice as it was, a mutual wank just wasn’t enough any more.

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ John said with a playful elbow to Sherlock’s ribs. Eyes, pupils gloriously wide, swept up to look at him.’Lie down for me.’ John moved towards him.

Sherlock began to move too but then hesitated. ‘John we did discuss my inexperience. It’s not that I’m averse to you inside… but I don’t know that..’He broke off pressing his knees together.

‘No, no, no.’ John said into Sherlock’s hair as he gently climbed into his lap. ‘I meant this.’ He took Sherlock’s hand and carefully pressed the fingers around both their erections.

‘Oh.’ Sherlock’s mouth formed a perfect O that was hard to resist kissing-so John didn’t- as they shifted themselves into an awkward lying position on the couch. Sherlock sprawled on top of John. One of the beds would have been much comfier but he feared breaking the spell. Besides a good old fashioned sticky fumble on the couch had its place. Especially where first dates were concerned.

‘Anyway,I was wondering if you’d care to do the honours as it were.’ John said squeezing Sherlock’s arse. It had been a long time since John had bottomed but with Sherlock’s lovely cock, lovely everything really, the idea appealed.

Besides, he trusted him completely.

‘I suppose I’d just assumed…I mean I’m not sure why…’ Sherlock avoided his eye though his hand kept up the delicious friction. 

‘Of course you’re sure why. You’re always sure why. You thought that the likelihood was a man visiting a brothel didn’t go there to be buggered. You had me right the first time though, like always, I’d have been happy with a nice hand job. As it is I got something much better.’ Sherlock’s face softened below him and he realised things had gotten awfully soppy for a a sticky fumble.

‘Next time.’ Sherlock said breathily. ‘I believe you’ll enjoy teaching me.’ His hand was steadily moving working  in counterpoint to hips.

‘Next time.’ John was right there with him anticipating the moment when he would feel Sherlock’s semen hit his belly. ‘Plenty of time for that love.’ He sloppily kissed Sherlock’s open mouth. Reflecting that this felt a hundred times more intimate than the last time he’d had penetrative sex and that it would be over too soon. ‘Are you getting close? I know I am. Thinking about you inside me.’ He had a sense of Sherlock’s muscles tightening a notch and the movement of hips and hands losing rhythm. ‘I want to be able to feel you for days.’ John finished with the cringe worthy porn line but it did the trick. Sherlock began to come. 

Without thinking John ran his hand through the mess. ‘Look at all that, I want it inside me next time.’ John said shakily then very quickly began to come himself.  Sherlock grinning as he did so.

Sherlock collapsed onto him afterwards. John knew that things would quickly get disgustingly tacky but was keen to enjoy a few moments skin to skin. Just to mark the occasion. Sherlock folded the blanket over them and for a blissful half minute there was only the cocoon of their shared warmth. Until they were interrupted by a decided orgasmic, decidedly female moan.

‘Sorry that was me.’ Sherlock said, wiping his hands on a discarded shirt before offering it to John. John was confused for a moment until Sherlock reached for his phone on the coffee table. ‘Irene. She customised her text noise. Just asking how I got on.’ Sherlock began to type.

‘We may need to talk about post shag etiquette with phones. We are literally still covered in….and what are you typing anyway?’ John craned his neck to look at the screen. Sherlock seemed to be in the process of sending Irene a detailed account of their activity. ‘You ever heard the expression too much information? Irene doesn’t need to know all that.’

‘John I hardly think in Irene’s line of work it will make her uncomfortable.’ Sherlock continued to type calmly.

‘Might make me uncomfortable though.’ John pulled at Sherlock’s wrist so he could properly read.

‘You come out of it rather well.’ Sherlock said softly. John did too. He couldn’t help a blush as he read.

‘Still though.’

‘Fine.’ Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘You compose an appropriate response.’ He handed the phone to John (who did a quick cut and paste job (Sherlock had said some very complimentary things so he sent them to himself) and then selected one winking and one cross eyed emoji to send to Irene.

‘Succinct.’Sherlock said with a satisfied smile. His face smeared with the eyeliner John was probably now wearing too. Now I know why I let you write the blog.


End file.
